


a slice of mischief

by mrecookies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Community: avengerkink, Crack, Eventual sexy times, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sif and Loki are bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrecookies/pseuds/mrecookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after running away from home with Sif, Loki is doing well in New York with a new 'family' and a successful bakery. A delivery to the local police precinct kicks off a series of events that swamp the little konditori; Clint plots unsuccessfully, Steve and Phil pine, Darcy cackles and hauls people for Late Nights Out, Sif advocates for more sex, and Twitter continues to be a bane of Loki's life, especially when one Tony Stark enters the premises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/13316.html?thread=32105732#t32105732) at _avengerkink_. First real fic in a few months, and first Avengers fic ever.

Loki wakes up on a Saturday dreaming of _knäck_. The warm taste of homemade Swedish toffee turns into the cottony taste of his pillow as his eyes open, and Loki hastily spits the fabric out, his cheeks burning, as Sif continues to giggle. She's hovering over him like she does every time she stays all night writing, dark locks tangled into a feral Rapunzel's braid, and Loki's embarrassment quickly dissipates due to the very real danger of Sif spilling the steaming cup of coffee all over his more delicate parts.

"That was actually kind of adorable, _is prins_ ," Sif says, chortling, and Loki quickly scarpers out of his comfortable bed as she jerks precariously forward in laughter. Loki allows just two people to call him that: Frigga and Sif, and Sif's only gained the privilege because she's stuck with him through potential self-destruction. And also because she never puts up with his bullshit, like the first time she called him by that nickname and he refused to talk to her for a week. He swears that the imprints of her rings are still embedded in his sides from her ruthless tickling.

Loki swats a pale hand at her, and stumbles to the bathroom, ignoring Sif's offer to "magic" his dark eye circles away with makeup. He wouldn't let her do it sober, let alone hyped up on no sleep and, when he gets to the kitchen, at least ten cups of tea (the heathen). Their machine groans in protest as he makes himself a pot of extra-strong coffee, Sif wrinkling her nose at the smell.

Sif gives him a once-over, and frowns until he raises an eyebrow in question. "You know," she says, "you could probably use a good bout of sex."

Loki regrettably chokes on the mouthful of perfectly good coffee in his mouth. He yelps in pain and shock as some splashes onto his shirt, snarling at Sif, who just stands aside watching him gulp down a glass of blessedly cool water and purposely spilling some on his torso to ease the burn.

"You should probably change out of that," she says, utterly serene, sipping her umpteenth cup of tea, and follows him back to the bathroom.

As Loki strips out of the ruined shirt, glad that the coffee didn't manage to soak through the knitted fabric, he hears a suspicious click and struggles to get out of the clothes in time to see Sif grinning as she uploads his half-naked picture onto Twitter. (Loki despairs of Twitter, and Instagram, and Facebook. He has better things to busy himself with. And Darcy to manage those _things_.)

"This," she giggles, ducking when Loki lunges at her, "will totally get you laid, _is prins_."

*

`**@warriorsif (19h ago):** get some pic.twitter.com…`

`**@mjolnirodinson (10m ago):** @warriorsif is that loki`

`**@warriorsif (9m ago):** @mjolnirodinson uh yeah and how???`

`**@mjolnirodinson (9m ago):** @warriorsif mother made that shirt`

`**@mjolnirodinson (6m ago):** @warriorsif mother says hes 2 thin`

`**@warriorsif (2m ago):** @mjolnirodinson he's gonna kill me thank god he hates twitter`

`**@mjolnirodinson (50s ago):** @warriorsif feed him yes also y r u awake is it not past 1 thr? im hving bfast 8D pic.twitter.com…`

`**@warriorsif (10s ago):** @mjolnirodinson im goijng to punch you in the fACE`

*

The reasons why Loki puts up with Sif are manifold (already mentioned are the facts that 1) Sif doesn't take Loki's bullshit lying down and 2) Sif has helped him through many difficult periods of his life). But still, Loki makes it loudly known that he absolutely resents this interview (even though he grudgingly accepts that it is for the good of his bakery) and that he's annoyed by Sif's ridiculous ban on coffee in her office.

"It's not even an office," Loki snipes, as Darcy swiftly applies just a little more makeup on his face. "Offices aren't meant to be this messy. Are you sure that this is presentable for your," he sneers, "viewers?"

Unruffled, Sif points a gold pen at him and _jabs_ it (albeit lightly) into his forearm. "Shut up. It lends a sense of reality to the whole show. Not everyone's a stickler for perfection like you. Now shush, and let Darcy put some pinkness to those snow-white cheeks of yours, princess, or I'll do it myself. With my hands."

Loki pretends not to hear Darcy's snigger (he regrets ever introducing her to Sif; the two women regularly ruin his life with Late Nights Out that end terribly), and sits relatively still while she works. His palms are a little damp, and he rubs them, irritated by his own anxiety, on his trousers. He knows he looks good. Loki has always looked good. He prides himself on his sophistication and elegance, no matter if Sif sometimes snorts and calls him a hipster. There is no accounting for taste. Words are his forte, but there's something about being interviewed on camera about his work and his _life_ that makes him nervous enough to feel physically ill.

"You okay, _is prins_?" Sif asks, sitting down beside him and fiddling with the camera. Her voice is softer now, and a slim hand comes to pat him on the shoulder. "It's going to be fine. Just talk to me, and we'll edit all the footage of you being obnoxious out afterwards. Maybe not all," she grins, "otherwise we'll have nothing to show for it."

Darcy's muttered _'tell me about it'_ does not go unnoticed, and Loki glares at her when she cheekily winks back. "You'll do fine, boss. Spill all of your secrets for your lady Darcy, c'mon. And smile!" Loki sputters when she snaps a photo of him on her phone (he is going to have to demand that she remove it from the World Wide Web on pain of _death_ ), but has no time to threaten her when Sif quickly switches the camera on.

It is a standard interview, Loki supposes, and Sif does make it a little easier to share some of his backstory with her gentle prompting and lighthearted jokes. They, of course, don't mention Thor or his adopted family outright by name, or the fact that Heimdall helped his little sister and Loki run away from Sweden. Loki does talk about being taunted for being interested in the art of pastry since he was a boy (he's glad that the viewers will only see them from the waist up; his fists were wrinkling the fabric of his trousers when he remembered how Fandral used to tease him with childish jeers with Thor grinning at the sidelines).

They don't speak about the day that Sif found him crying in the garden, and definitely not about finding out about who Laufey was. Instead, Sif interrupts him when he gets a little too moody, reminding him of the strained childhood relationship they had both shared, before.

("You cut off my hair! My mother had to put little bows to cover the missing chunks."

"I am sorry for that; you did look like a poodle. In my defense, I was trying to free you from the swing."

"You trapped me in the swing in the first place!")

They briefly talk about the years of odd-jobs at various Swedish bakeries, as well as France and his training with Antoine. During the break, Loki shows off his silver tongue while Darcy pretends to swoon in a corner off-camera. Sif then turns the topic to his bakery, and Loki can feel himself grin when he describes how he met his crew and set up shop in New York.

(Darcy he had met at a bookshop one unforgettable morning; he argued with the fresh college graduate over Swedish private schools and a horrendous cup of Starbucks coffee, and ended up hiring her as a cashier-cum-waitress even after she blamed him for splashing her cappuccino all over his new boots.

Steve became his assistant after Loki met him at the Met. The art student, barely a year out of the military, was someone that Loki simply _needed_ to have after he pitched an idea for a new design for one of Loki's cakes. Loki is good at pastries and cakes, at the technical part of it, but Steve brings a fresh new perspective to his work.

Loki wouldn't be complete without the rest of his little family (as he reluctantly calls them on camera under duress from Darcy's fierce glare in the corner): Peggy, who can single-handedly command an overwhelming morning crowd into a neat line; Bucky, who does the deliveries, and whose courtship of the lady Carter was eventually successful after many months of sickening innuendos that nearly drove Loki _insane_ ; and Betty, who is secretly Loki's favorite, his second assistant because Steve still has classes to attend.)

Finally, Sif nods and signs off, switching the camera off and moving to download the video onto her computer. "Good work, _is prins_ ," she murmurs, before slipping into work mode, her hand grasping at thin air until Loki rolls his eyes and pushes her mug of tea towards her.

"Yeah, _is prins_ ," Darcy says, miraculously managing to not butcher the pronunciation (Loki still gives her a scowl that says _'you are not allowed'_ ), "I, on the behalf of the entire cast and crew of your ship, salute you and clutch my pearls in gratitude of your love for us. Evidently, we are your life."

"You are most certainly not," Loki sniffs. (They are.) "I will leave you to your affairs, lady Sif," he says to Sif, who waves vaguely at them to leave.

"I can't believe you cut her hair," Darcy says, picking up her bag as they walk out of the office. "I went to one of her self-defense classes and nearly died. And I was just watching the guy get pummeled."

"She is quite formidable," Loki says, laughing.

Darcy links her arm with his. "I didn't know you were adopted," she says, and Loki's whole body tenses up as he presses the button for the lift harder than necessary. "I was too, you know," she murmurs, and Loki relaxes. As infuriating as Darcy is most of the time, she knows how to read him, and consequentially what not to ask. "We misfits have gotta stick together."

And Loki just knows that he is about to get dragged to another Late Night Out. He hopes that it doesn't end up with him giving another stranger an impromptu lap dance again.

*

"Steve, Bucky's not coming in today, so I need you to do the deliveries." Loki scans the papers, double-checking the orders and the boxed pastries before handing the clipboard to Steve. "The police order isn't until afternoon, so leave that for last, yes?"

Steve nods, looking up from the fondant he's shaping into a heart. Loki leaves him to his work; he needs to sort out the veritable mountain of orders for Valentine's Day on his desk before the bakery officially opens.

Loki has never understood Valentine's Day. Back home, it is an occasion for schoolchildren to exchange innocent kisses and pink jelly hearts. It seems the same in New York, except that it's much, much bigger. The bakery's swamped with orders for the little cupcakes Steve came up with when they first began, candies with cheesy messages on them (Darcy and Bucky have campaigned for an adults's version for the past two holidays, but Steve has always managed to win Loki's veto over with his puppy eyes, especially since Darcy and Bucky's ideas are products of drunk Late Nights Out and frankly unimpressive), and fluffy heart-shaped marshmallows in various colors. The custom cakes are the most work, but there aren't too many (thanks to Peggy's suggestion to limit the number of custom orders), and he has both Betty and Steve to help, so Loki's not too worried. He's survived two years. He can deal with this one.

The customers come streaming in at 10, a little later since it's the weekend, and the bakery soon buzzes with energy and half-shouted orders. The chaos is managed into some sort of order by the formidable Peggy, but Loki secretly enjoys the rushing chaos of people and pastries even though he spends most of his time in the kitchen alone. He does occasionally step out to greet some of the regulars, like Peter Parker, a journalism student who helps them with the photographs for their promotional flyers ("S'up! That poster's looking good out front, yeah?"), and Jane Foster, a constantly harried-looking astrophysicist who shares Loki's love of strong coffee ("My saviors, my gods, my stars, my fucking _gravity_.").

As morning turns into afternoon, the number of people in their little shop dwindles, and Peggy can pull out the little tables that fit quaintly in the front of the bakery. Darcy brews coffee and pretends that she's a barista (she is not allowed, however, to try her hand at latte art again, after that one time she drew a surprisingly anatomically correct penis), waiting on the few tables that are lazily occupied by lucky customers.

Loki's working on a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls when the backdoor opens and slams shut. He glances up, startled, and sees his assistant all flustered and flushed. "Steve, what's the matter?" he asks slowly, putting the tray of _kanelbulle_ aside to rest. "Did something go wrong with the deliveries?"

"I, uh—no, nothing's wrong. It's me. Excuse me, sir, boss, uh—" Steve shoves the clipboard and keys at Loki before disappearing back out into the alley, brushing past Betty on the way.

Betty gives Loki a look; it's a rare sight to see Steve so jittery, and Loki nods solemnly before he goes to set his lieutenant on the poor man.

*

**(a) the explanation**

The guy is _hot_. Hey, Clint can appreciate beauty in all its forms, okay? Especially if it looks like the literal personification of the United States of America; hell, the guy even smells like apple pie! Clint tells him as such, grinning when he flushes rather attractively.

"That would be the fruit cakes, and Loki's been stocking the fridge with _trocadero_ lately."

"Bless you," Clint says automatically, and earns himself a raised eyebrow from the Apollo-turned-deliveryman. "Now hand over the goodies," he says, eyes darting towards the name-tag, "Rogers, and I won't throw you to Tasha. She takes this stuff seriously."

"She sounds dangerous."

Understatement of the fucking century. "She is. I still have bruises from that time in Budapest."

"Budapest is classified, Barton." Coulson appears from behind him, and Clint totally jumps, and it's _justified_ , okay? There are only two people who are allowed and able to sneak up on him: Coulson, and Natasha. And the precinct cat, but Cat is the devil's actual feline spawn, so. He smiles at Steve, and _hello_ , ain't that interesting?

Steve's flush deepens as it spreads down Steve's chest, almost matching the faded paint splatter near the collar of his white shirt. Huh, an artist. "I need a signature for these," he says, motioning towards the boxes on the desk. Clint covers his glee poorly by sniffing at one of them, earning a nudge from Coulson—rude!—which nearly topples him over the edge.

"I'll do it, since Barton seems to have turned into a member of our K-9 unit," Coulson says wryly, taking the clipboard and pen from Steve. Clint would be offended, but he's currently having a stare-off with Cat, who's plopped herself down on Clint's chair (goddamn devil's spawn) and purring at the boxes. "I'll see you out," he says, and Clint's forgoes his battle with Cat to watch, stunned, as his mild-mannered boss _walks Steve Rogers out_.

*

`**Clint:** _tasha coulson is totes hittg on this hot delivery guy_`

`**Clint:** _tasha i hope hes askg 4 his #_`

`**Clint:** _omfg yeah tap tt aSS pls_`

*

"What happened?" he asks his boss, smirking. "Did ya get his number? You're smiling, you totally got his number!"

Coulson grabs Clint's shoulder, his small smile turning into a grave look. Clint falters. "I'm going to request that you secede part of your coffee privileges," he says, before walking away with the boxes.

Clint's mouth stays open for a few seconds before he decides that a protest would just make Coulson _ban_ him from drinking coffee on the job, and he really, really, needs his caffeine to focus, so he changes tack and just yells at Coulson's back without a care, "So did you get hot stuff's number?" and Coulson bans him anyway.

He pouts; Cat hisses at him and refuses to get off of his chair.

*

`**Natasha:** _What did you do to Phil?_`

`**Clint:** _how cum u get 2 call him phil_`

`**Natasha:** _He actually likes me. What happened? He's moping. Even Fury's worried._`

`**Clint:** _r00d go ask him thn. mb things went wrong w steve???_`

`**Clint:** _im banned 4 lyfe frm coffee :(_`

`**Natasha:** _Serves you right._`

`**Clint:** _tashaaaaaaaaa :'(((_`

`**Natasha:** _He did ask for Steve's number, but I think Steve was confused and gave him the bakery's contact information instead._`

`**Natasha:** _By the way, this cake is delicious, especially with coffee, but I guess you'll never know. Where are you? Did Phil ban you from the party too?_`

*

Clint's tortured yell rings throughout the precinct, and he's damned proud of the way he burst into Fury's office to grab the last slice of cake and a cinnamon roll in fifteen seconds flat. He glares at Coulson, wishes Fury a happy birthday, and stalks back to his desk with his head held fucking high, and even manages to make Cat jump out of the way as he sits down with his prizes.

The first thing he thinks is: fuck _yes_.

The second: oh my _god_ , I'm in motherfucking _heaven_.

*

**(b) the realization**

Steve sits, stunned, in the truck outside the bakery.

He lets out a strangled noise and resists the urge to concuss himself on the steering wheel in order to forget what just happened at the precinct with—with Phil.

Peggy has no such reservations fifteen minutes later when she shrieks and thwacks him with her apron.

*

The only consequence of the Steve incident is that the officers from the local precinct are now their newest customers, coming in with compliments about the birthday pastries and staying for fresh baked goods. Loki is forced to step out to accept the thanks and praise, escaping to the back (after Darcy deems he's twitchy enough) to work on the custom cakes, and assuring Steve that _'no, Rogers, none of them were Coulson or Barton—that's a funny name. Wasn't that the bat in Anastasia?'_ Steve looks massively relieved, but Loki can spot the thread of disappointment that runs through his body language, and frowns before shoving the last pile of cupcakes towards him to decorate.

"How's your project going?" he asks Steve, while rolling out some fondant. He knows vaguely that Steve has to turn in three works in a few weeks.

"I, uh, I've not been working on them much," Steve confesses, absent-mindedly running his flour-covered fingers through his hair. (A sudden memory of Thor runs through Loki's mind, and he discards it before it solidifies into an image of a flour-fight in Frigga's kitchen when they were— _damn_.) "Been busy with the shop, y'know?" He hastily adds that he doesn't mind the work in the bakery, but the guilt in Loki's stomach steels itself, and he interrupts Steve in the middle of his speech.

"I'm going to cut back your hours," Loki says slowly, palms gently flat against the pale green sheet of icing. "You'll still get paid, don't worry; we're doing wonderfully fine." Loki also knows that Steve's mother gets sick easily during the cold weather, having kindly been invited to Rogers Christmas dinners for as long as he's known Steve. Mrs Rogers reminds him of Mrs Weasley, especially when she forces him to wear one of her knitted sweaters. (Loki once thought he was akin to young Harry Potter. He no longer thinks so. He is not so brave.) "And Betty and I can finish the rest of the orders for, as the lady Darcy calls it, the Love Fest," he says dryly.

The lady Darcy calls out just then, cutting Steve's thanks short as his name is yelled. Loki looks towards Betty, who bemusedly goes to investigate, popping her head out of the kitchen to survey the store. The young woman returns, giggling, and whispers into Loki's ear, "Phil Coulson's here."

"Ah," Loki says. He rubs his hands together, before turning to Steve. "Rogers, that will be all for today. You can go home for an early dinner. Send my regards. Shoo."

Steve unties his apron, all the while staring at Betty and Loki suspiciously. "I'm just going to wash my hands," he says, inching towards the sink; Loki nudges Betty with a sharp elbow, earning himself a glare.

"Darcy's calling you," she says, stepping in front of Steve. "You know how she gets."

"I need to wash my hands; it's a rule." Steve tries to get past Betty, but she blocks him again with her shorter figure. Loki's pretty impressed with her tenacity and ability to stare down Steve. (Then again, he's not surprised. Somehow he's managed to hire three women who scare _him_ , let alone Steve.) "Betty."

"Steve," Betty returns with a smile that's as sharp as a gleaming knife. "Get out of the kitchen."

Darcy yells again, and Betty pokes Steve in the arm until the blond gives up and heads out.

"Miss Ross," Loki says, "I do think that you deserve a raise." He gives her an approving grin, which she answers with a conspiratory laugh, eyes slyly looking towards the kitchen door. "I suppose we do have some time," he drawls, and allows her to take his arm.

*

The little bakery's pretty neat. It smells like angels, and Clint tells his partner as such; Natasha just gives him a scathing look before admitting that the place is nice.

Cars are nice. Holidays are nice. This is fucking awesome. Clint never wants to leave. He wants to vacuum all the smells into his nose and bottle them for future daydreaming sessions. It also has coffee that's even thicker than what the precinct offers, and he's _off-duty_ , which means that Coulson cannot ride his ass for ordering a large cup of joe. Besides, he's pretty sure that the only ass that Coulson wants to ride belongs to—

" _Tasha_ ," Clint whines, blinking back manly tears and rubbing his arm; Natasha's pinches are legendary.

"Quit that fantasy immediately," she says mildly, swiping his cup for a sip as they watch Coulson try to deal with the barista-cum-cashier, who's trying to grill him on his intentions for Steve. "She's cute."

Clint grins when Darcy yells for Steve again, snickering at the looks on both Steve and Coulson's faces when the blond man emerges from the kitchen a few moments later. "Ooh, this should be fun."

"Your cackling rankles my nerves," an English-accented voice says, and Clint looks up to see the bakery's manager standing next to their table. Her red lips are pursed, and her black heel taps impatiently on the floor. She's hot. "Eyes forward, officer."

Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint, and introduces herself to Peggy Carter, but Clint tunes them out because the guy that's just exited the kitchen is really, well, _hot_. He's tall, and pale, and his hair's a slicked-back raven black, and _jesus christ_ his eyes are green.

"Who's that?" he asks absently, even taking his gaze off of Steve and Coulson to look the man up and down.

Peggy sits down next to Natasha. "That's Loki, our boss." She glances Clint over and sniffs. "You haven't got a chance."


	2. Chapter 2

It's closing time, and Loki's glad for it. They are coping all right with Steve's fewer hours, but Loki has been feeling the strain of completing the final orders for Valentine's Day.

"We need to celebrate," Darcy says, as they go out for dinner. Sif's face lights up beside her, and Loki groans because he really doesn't need to go out and get drunk. "Come on, it's a Friday. Don't make me break out the Rebecca Black."

"She's no longer relevant," Clint points out. Loki doesn't even understand why they're here, the two police officers. They're not part of the group; sure they're paying customers, and they also have an interest in the Coulson-Rogers soon-to-be-drama playing out in the bakery at the moment, but why? "Also, Cat hates that song."

"Cat hates you singing that song." Natasha takes out the pins from her fiery red hair as she stalks forward to talk to Peggy. Loki needs to keep an eye on them. They are plotting something. He's not known Natasha for very long, but he can spot a (fellow; Loki's kind of semi-retired now) troublemaker. He has Sif and Darcy, for Christ's sake. "Actually, Cat just hates you."

In answer to Loki's inquiring look, Clint explains that they have a cat called Cat at the precinct, which is just wrong. "You know, you kind of are like a cat," he says, and Darcy dissolves into giggles, Sif catching her just before she stumbles into a telephone pole.

Loki makes his voice as icy as he can. "Excuse me?"

"Y'know. Prim, proper, kind of a stuck-up. But secretly wild. Like in bed. Bet you stretch really well, _kitten_." Clint grins up at Loki, and Loki can't help but stare at him in disbelief. "I do lunges."

"Your flirting skills leave much to be desired," Loki declares, and walks a little faster, but Clint's a police officer used to brisk strides, and the infuriating man keeps up with the quick pace. Damn him. It's not that Clint's particularly unattractive; Loki can very well see the attraction in his biceps and other prominently toned muscles, and his smile is nice when he's not being sardonic (which doesn't mean that Loki can't appreciate sardonic; have you seen Loki?) and he's—he's _adorable_ in a manly way. But Loki's not really looking for a someone, even if he's lonely sometimes when Sif goes out on dates and the apartment's a tad too empty.

The image of Clint stretching pops into his head, though, and Loki swallows before gritting his teeth and reminding himself that he doesn't _need_ this in his life right now. (Clint has very firm buttocks. Loki knows this only because Darcy likes to accidentally knock things over when Clint's around.)

"Maybe we should have brought Steve along," Betty comes to his rescue with a smirk. "He would benefit from a little loosening up before his coffee _meeting_ with Phil." Loki approves of the implied air quotes. The two men refuse to stop dancing around each other. It has been a week since the whole 'second chance at first impressions' incident, and even Loki's impatient for the plot to move on.

"I could loosen—" Clint blurts out suddenly before he's interrupted by Natasha barking his name. Loki suppresses the urge to roll his eyes (Peggy has instated an actual _jar_ in the bakery because of Loki's short temper with the customized cakes and consequent habit of expressing his annoyance) and huffs quietly instead.

Betty smiles, nudging him with her elbow. "You could relax a little, you know. We're finished with the cakes, and it is Friday night. And he's pretty cute too."

"For you, my love, I will _chillax_ , as Darcy says, but I have zero inclination to pursue _that_ ," Loki points to Clint at the front of their group; the man is aiming an imaginary arrow at some Christmas lights. To be fair, Christmas lights should, according to him, be taken down at New Year's at the very latest.

" _That_ is a mighty fine ass." Darcy wolf-whistles, purposely darting right in front of Loki's face (albeit lower) and Loki wishes that he could just brain himself on a nearby streetlamp when Clint turns around and winks at him.

"Let's go get a drink," Betty says, patting him on the arm.

*

`**Natasha:** _What are you doing?_`

`**Clint:** _im doin nothin just chillin w my pizzaz_`

`**Natasha:** _The pathetic flirting with Loki?_`

`**Clint:** _hey i got game ok_`

`**Clint:** _but hes HOT can he join us_`

`**Clint:** _in bed_`

`**Natasha:** _He's not going to bite. 50._`

` **Clint:** _i got GAME. 50 bucks and if i lose u get to do that weird thing_ `

`**Clint:** _but if i win i get tt speshul thing u knw what i mean_`

`**Clint:** _and i got game baby_`

`**Natasha:** _I'll cut off your balls with chopsticks if you call me that again._`

*

"I'm personally affronted that Steve has gone to Starbucks for his date," Peggy says, craning her head to look out of the window as if her eyes are able to see the couple across at least two streets and a mountain of people. Loki has much faith in Peggy, her ability to cook notwithstanding, but not even she can look in on Coulson and Rogers while simultaneously taking care of the Valentine's Day crowd. (Bucky reported that she cannot, in fact, make a good chicken soup; Mrs Rogers had to send some down, and Loki dropped by with some medical supplies to rescue his deliveryman after Peggy accidentally flung the can-opener through the kitchen window.)

"I know, right?" Darcy mumbles around a cookie, still managing to look chirpy despite the burgeoning crowd. "It's so commercial, it's disgusting."

As Loki hands over a boxed-up custom cake to a cheerful Peter ("Aunt May's gonna be so pumped!"), he points out that Darcy is currently guzzling down two mocha frappes from said commercial franchise. "Besides, I would hardly think that they would want for us to be taking notes of how well their meeting is going."

"I took notes!" Clint bursts into the bakery and is immediately met with half a dozen boos and calls for him to get in line. Peggy stares them down with a steely glare and snatches the frumpy notebook away before sending him back into the kitchen with Loki.

"You're unbelievable," Loki grumbles, as he tugs the man through the doors. Betty greets Clint with a smile, and takes her turn to deliver the custom orders and Valentine's sweets. "It's not proper to spy on other people's private affairs."

Clint just grins and reaches out for a _kanelbulle_. Loki lets him, simply because he knows that Clint is particularly good at whining and even more excellent at expressing his love for Loki's pastries. "So here's the deets," he says around a mouthful of pleased noises, and Loki shuts his eyes in order to spare himself the sight of the pearl sugar being scattered onto Clint's decidedly form-fitting leather jacket. "They're just talking. About, like, coffee. And latte art and shit, and then Steve finally said something about doing art, and Coulson _tried_ to pull off the 'draw me like one of French girls' line, and it bombed. Because Steve has never seen 'Titanic', and that's just weird, like who hasn't seen 'Titanic'?"

"I have not," Loki says dryly, and winces when he hears Clint choke on a bite. He's going to make Clint scrub the floors. Loki opens his eyes to see Clint's brown ones just staring at him in disbelief. "I just haven't had the occasion to watch it."

"And you say that I'm unbelievable," Clint mutters. "Anyway, they're yapping about movies—never pegged Coulson to be a rom-com guy—and you should totally just drop by our place to watch 'Titanic'. It's kind of a classic, uh, film, dude." Clint does have a nice smile, but it's rather ruined by the sugar on his teeth. Loki hands him a glass of water.

"I must admit that I do not comprehend your actions, Clint Barton," Loki says slowly, as he watches Clint tip his neck backwards in an exaggerated manner. "You live with Natasha, correct? And all signs point to the two of you in a romantic and/or sexual relationship. I don't appreciate being trifled with, nor do I desire to drive a wedge in between the two of you." He turns on what Darcy calls the Interrogation Eyes onto Clint. (Darcy has many names for many things. She named the cash register _Bingley_.)

"Woah, okay." Clint holds his hand up in mock surrender and laughs. (Loki supposes that he does quite like how Clint is—not raw, not vulnerable, but—himself.) "Yeah, Tasha and I are, uh, Tasha and I. And it's not that you're scary, I mean, you are, a little, but like a cat, but not like Cat, you know. And you're hot, so."

"So?"

"So I just thought that maybe we could, uh. Tasha's fine with it. As I said, you're hot, and we're hot too, so why not burn a bed?" Clint shrugs, but Loki can sense something under the casual veneer. He could probably suss out the unspoken words that tinges Clint's statements with a touch of lies—a bet, perhaps? He's had plenty of success with Thor. Before.

"I appreciate the sentiment," Loki says instead, smiling. "But I'm—" His head swivels towards the sudden entrance of a body slumping through the kitchen doors.

"Stark?"

*

Anthony Stark is many things. Currently, Loki is looking at a man who minutely looks like the polished clean energy mogul whose image regularly graces the front of various newspapers, journals, and gossip magazines. The man sitting in the middle of his kitchen while Peggy and Coulson (brought back early from his date with profuse apologies) tame the rabid press is very much unshaven and smells of an entire bar. His suit was once an exquisite thing, Loki can see, and if it were possible he would mourn for its passing.

"Do you know where you are, Mister Stark?" Clint asks, smirking. (It is a good look on him.)

"I thought we're calling each other by our first names, are we not? _Hawkeye?_ " Stark mumbles. The hand that's not pressing an ice pack to his head flicks a finger to lower his shades. Blue eyes scan the room and land on Loki, who stiffens his stance against one of the refrigerators. "I'm assuming that I'm in a kitchen of some design, judging by Reindeer Games over there."

Loki huffs at the jibe to his apron; it had been a Christmas gift from Mrs Rogers. And everyone thought it was adorable. (Loki feels for Rudolph, which is why he wears it all the time, even if it isn't Christmas.)

"Whaddaya know, you _are_ a genius," Clint says. "All right, say goodbye to the nice people who you're gonna compensate when you're sober and have a well-deserved high-heeled shoe up your butt. Tasha's got a sweet ride waiting for you to take you home. Jesus, Tony. It's just after lunch." He hauls Stark off the chair and herds him towards the back door; Natasha looks disgusted when she peeks in and catches a whiff of Stark's stink. She nods at Loki before grabbing Stark's collar and shutting the door.

"So," Loki turns to Clint awkwardly, "does he do this often?"

"Yeah." Clint ruffles his hair, short brown locks sticking up at the back. He is, Loki admits, pretty cute. "So, I guess movie night's out, huh? Damn, the sex would have been fantastic with Celine Dion warbling in the background."

Loki can't help himself. He laughs.

"Shut up, I owe Tasha fifty bucks," Clint pouts. (Ah.) He glares balefully at Loki as if it's _his_ fault. "And I blew a good deal on your damned delicious pastries. You know what else I can blow?"

"Not interested. Goodbye, little hawk," Loki says sweetly, pushing Clint towards the back door.

*

`**Natasha:** _You got game, my ass._`

`**Clint:** _he was tempted ok and he def think im cute_`

`**Clint:** _can we watch titanic tonight_`

`**Natasha:** _A pity. He looks limber. Unlike you. Pick up some pizza._`

`**Clint:** _offense! but god those legs is sexting an option right now_`

`**Natasha:** _With Stark and Pepper right now. Ten more minutes. Get some rope too._`

`**Clint:** _fuck_`

`**Natasha:** _I like winning._`

*

"So how was your date?" Darcy sings the final word obnoxiously into Steve's ear, sauntering into the kitchen during the lunch break.

With all the Valentine's Day rush and Clint, Loki hasn't found time to talk to Steve about Coulson. He's warned the others off of his assistant too, but Darcy's never been one to stick to the rules for long.

"It wasn't a date," Steve says, flushing. "We just had coffee, and we talked. Phil's a nice guy." He looks slightly alarmed to see Betty and Peggy sidle closer. Even Bucky's stopped frowning over delivery addresses and the map to give Steve a sympathetic but interested twist of his mouth.

"And?" Darcy prods. "Are you guys going out for another date—I mean, _meeting_ again? How do you feel about him? Do you think he's hot, because he's kind of an older guy attractive—no offense, boss—but dude's got a great ass."

"How do you know he's got a great arse?" Peggy asks. She pins Steve with a look. "Do you think his arse is particularly scintillating?"

"He's a police officer, dude. 'Sides, I can spy quality ass from a mile away." Darcy sighs dreamily, and bats her eyelashes at Steve as Betty snickers.

Steve stalks into Loki's office, blushing furiously, and _slams the door shut_.

Bucky and Betty guiltily go to check on their friend to no answer, while Darcy panics about having broken Steve. Peggy immediately turns to Loki, who startles at the glare.

"Me?"

Peggy scoffs. "He's in _your_ office. And he won't listen to any of us. Rightfully. He'll listen to you."

Loki is not good at relationship advice. He is the Chandler Bing of relationship advice with the huge added factor of unwillingness to impart any and all awkwardly-worded uselessness. He can offer petty tricks to avenge hurts (Tom, one of Darcy's ex, for example, was a brilliant example of a prank gone superbly right), and vague words of comfort, but it still stands that Loki has had exactly two serious romantic entanglements in his life. Given those and the fact that Loki's relationship with his own family is questionably bad, he is not qualified for such situations at all.

(Loki will admit that he _was_ quite interested in Clint's offer. He does want to have a good bout of sex, as Sif put it, because he's not made of _stone_ ; but people are complicated. Relationships are complicated. Something simple can turn into something else. See Brody, Loki's first, for instance. Or Angelique. Words are a difficulty in and of themselves. Add emotions and feelings to the pot and Loki would rather devote his time to fashioning his cakes and pastries, thank you very much.)

Still, Loki goes to knock on his own office door, and is a little nervously surprised when Steve lets him into the darkened room.

"Are you all right?" he asks softly. "They didn't mean any harm, you know. And they are hugely apologetic out there."

Steve nods curtly, and leans back against the wall, arms folded. "I'm not—I'm not mad at them for the whole Phil thing," he says, hand waving about. "I was in the army. I can take talking about—about people's anatomy."

Sometimes, they do forget that Steve is ex-military. "It's about how you feel about the meeting then, with Coulson," Loki says, moving to stand beside Steve, the wall cold under his back.

"Yeah, I mean," Steve bites his lip, and turns to Loki. "I like him. But I don't think I'm ready yet."

Loki frowns. "Why not?"

"I've got school," Steve says unevenly. "I've got work. I—I haven't done anything like this before."

"Gone out with a man?"

Steve looks uncomfortable and shakes his head. "Not—not exactly."

Loki breathes out. "Just gone out, then." At Steve's blush, Loki hastens to add that it's perfectly fine. "It is good," he says slowly, "to take as much time as you need."

"Should I tell him?"

He is not qualified. "If you feel as if that is the most wise course of action to take." There. That's acceptable. His life is his life; Loki has no business poking and/or being made to poke into other people's issues.

"What do _you_ think?" Steve stares at him plaintively. "I'm sorry," he laughs suddenly, "this is terribly personal. You don't care about this—"

Oh to hell with it. "I think," Loki says, "I think you should let him be aware that he needs to grant you some space. And really, Rogers, _do what you want_. I believe they say that the heart wants what the heart wants, yes?"

*

Loki's flattered that his bakery has a celebrity patron now, but he didn't expect it to be Anthony Stark. He's surprised that Stark even remembers the place, even if Stark Industries has compensated them for Stark crashing into his shop and disrupting the already volatile Valentine's Day atmosphere. Loki heard him say something about reading a tweet (Loki rolls his eyes and happily dumps a dollar into Peggy's special jar) when he strode in earlier, but was quickly more concerned when Stark loudly greeted him with that horrible nickname of Reindeer Games in front of the small afternoon crowd.

(He'd make Jane pay later for sniggering.)

Right now, he's watching as one of the richest men in New York stuffs his face with a Danish pastry. (Loki's reluctantly stopped calling it by its rightful name of _wienerbrød_ after one too many childish remarks.)

"My god," Stark literally moans, crumbs dropping all over his no doubt hideously expensive Italian suit. Loki actually rather likes the suit, and winces as a particularly large piece lands on a shiny button. "These are pretty fucking _orgasmic_. I'll buy your bakery."

"It's not for sale," Loki says stiffly, offering him a paper napkin.

Stark ignores it. "I'll buy you then," he says outrageously, winking, looking a little more playboy for a second, before scarfing down the rest of the pastry like an utter _child_. "Pepper!"

Loki arches an eyebrow. "The condiment?"

"My assistant," Stark says, licking his fingers. (Loki gives up on the napkin and looks mournfully at the dirtied suit.) He points towards the redhead ending her chat with Natasha.

Her heels are incredibly high. "Damn it, Tony, stop ruining your wardrobe." She fusses with Stark's suit while he attempts to bat her away like a five-year-old, before introducing herself as Pepper Potts. "I apologize for Tony," she says, as she shakes Loki's hand.

"You wound me, Pep." Stark grins and waggles his fingers before snatching up a red frosted cupcake. He bites into it, and lets out a ridiculously lewd moan that even has Darcy's eyebrows raised. " _Marry me._ "

Pepper sighs. "Again, my apologies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the encouragement! Sorry for the slightly late posting; I realised that I was writing more for Chapter 3 than Chapter 2.
> 
> The original prompt was for Clint/Loki, but the OP kindly allowed me to turn it into Tony/Loki, so this is my attempt at a nod to that.


	3. Chapter 3

"He's interested in Loki," Clint says, tapping his fingers on the glass table. Natasha just stares unblinkingly at him. It is unnerving, as usual. "This is not going to end well."

"And what makes you think that it would interest me?" Natsha's eyebrow arches up, and Clint hastily leans back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. (He forgot to pick up the laundry last evening. Natasha still hasn't forgiven him. It's a reason why Clint is also currently wearing one of Natasha's boy shorts. It's hot and totally cool at the same time, okay?)

"I don't know," Clint mumbles. "It's Stark. You're amused by Stark."

This is true. Stark is like a reality show in and of himself. There was the whole weapons manufacturing thing, back when Stark was one of the huge party-going celebrities in New York City. He's still one of the big dogs, but the number of Stark Incidents they had to settle since Afghanistan has dropped rather significantly. An analyst at the precinct says that the incidents mark a lovely mathematical curve that's plateauing out at the moment. Clint just uses it as a dartboard. (Well, used. Maria was very angry at the penis that he'd made out of pins.)

Clint was a rookie when the Stark Incidents first began, and now he and Tony have become some kind of friends, to Coulson's chagrin. Natasha never hides her disapproval of Tony's antics, and taught Pepper some kickass moves that can make a person cry in ten seconds flat. (Clint knows from personal experience, okay?) But she, along with Clint, does take a morbid curiosity in following Tony's various scandals, even if they've petered out a little with his move to clean energy post-Afghanistan.

Natasha hums, sipping her coffee, scarlet-painted nails clacking softly against the cup. "He's doing marginally better than you."

Clint is offended. Loki looks annoyed at Tony, not disinterested, like he was with Clint. Clint has got game, okay. He does lunges. He bagged Natasha.

(When Natasha narrows her eyes at Clint, he hastily stuffs another forkful of _prinsesstårta_ into his mouth, and wonders, not for the first time, if Natasha can read minds.)

"He's _so_ hot," Tony moans, flopping down next to Clint. His tie is flicked over his shoulder in impatience, and he's pouting. Clint takes out his phone and snaps a picture. Tony doesn't even blink.

"I know, dude."

Natasha scoffs, and goes over to talk to Peggy. Loki confided in Clint that he was suspicious of the two. Clint has to agree.

"Pepper says that I can't sleep with him." Tony slumps onto the table dejectedly. He perks up, though, when Steve comes through the kitchen doors to discuss something with Darcy. "Holy shit, is this place crawling with hot people or what?"

Clint snorts. "I fucking know, right? You can't sleep with Steve though. Coulson's trying to get into his pants, but in a more noble way."

"Fuck." Tony grumbles into the table. His messy hair looks so much like a nest that Clint is really, really tempted to scrunch up bits of the paper napkins and pretend that they're eggs.

It takes three rough-looking eggs for Peggy to step in, a frowning Natasha in tow. "What are you doing, Barton?"

"Uh," Clint says eloquently. Tony looks up at the frosty voice, confused, tries to leer at Peggy, and pays for his huge mistake when Peggy high heel accidentally jabs his foot. While Tony swears and groans, clutching his expensively loafer-ed foot, Clint smiles weakly up at the two women.

"Stark," Natasha says impassively. "You need to up your game."

"It's pretty shite so far," Peggy adds. "Be more seductive. Charm his pants off. We want to see some genuine action going on."

Tony is still unable to properly speak, so Clint asks, "Why do the two of you even care if Tony and Loki get laid?"

"It's boring in here," Darcy says, suddenly appearing at their table. Clint looks around, but Loki's nowhere to be seen. "Oh, the boss is working his magic with flour and other things, I don't know. Betty's distracting him with bonbons or whatever."

"Do you really work here?" Tony snarks.

"Excuse your face," Darcy says sweetly back. She blows out her gum and pops it, looking like she could pass for one of Britney's backup dancers in 'Baby One More Time'. (Clint's favorite music video ever. Hands down. For reasons.) "Anyway, Steve says he's not ready for things to progress with Phil yet, so that ship is totally just stuck in the harbor."

That's probably why Coulson looked so glum on Monday.

"Doesn't explain why y'all want Loki to get laid. And why you'd want _him_ ," Clint jerks his thumb at Tony, who's unashamedly polishing off Clint's _prinsesstårta_ , "as a candidate when you could have had my back weeks ago."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Natasha mutters, and holy shit, she's grabbing his collar and lifting him nearly out of his seat. "Barton, stop entertaining those fantasies. They're never coming true, even if he would look really fucking depraved in our bed." She holds up a finger when Tony tries to speak. "It's not about the sex." Again, Tony's mouth falls open, and the finger goes up.

"It's partly about the sex," Peggy says. "But basically we think that Loki could use some loosening up, and I don't necessarily mean the physical way, so shut it, Stark. Sif, Bucky, and Darcy are the fun ones in this group. And they've been working hard for years to get Loki to relax for years."

"He refuses to make dirty Valentine's Day candies." Darcy fakes an unhappy sigh. "Although, to be fair, 75% of that is Steve's fault."

Tony raises his hand. The three women nod graciously to allow him to speak. "It hasn't worked well, because you're all too predictable. You need a wildcard."

"Slightly condescending, but yes," Peggy says. She looks at Tony critically. It's not too different from any of her other looks, if Clint's honest. "We think you could do it."

Clint's starting to see it their way. Tony is ridiculously clever, and his mind works like a maze. (Clint was once stationed as an undercover bodyguard in Stark Industries. He is very aware of how Tony works. It is scary cool. And hot. Clint has a healthy libido, okay?)

Loki's kind of similar. Clint's only known the guy for like a month and a half, but he knows Loki is quick on his feet and invested in his work almost to the degree of Coulson (excepting Coulson's calm exterior; Clint has witnessed one of Loki's cold tantrums and survived).

"I'm in," he says. This is going to end in disaster. Coulson is going to come in and find the five of them baked into little tarts.

At least 'Hawkeye' is a good name for a pastry.

*

There is a conspiracy afoot. Loki's sure of it. Stark has increased the frequency of visits to the bakery, which is great for business, but really grating on his nerves. Even worse, Loki suspects that at least half of his staff are actually rooting for Stark to win Loki's affections.

He corners Steve.

(Loki is not going anywhere near the women. Darcy would just laugh it off while waving a taser, Peggy would probably poison him with her cooking, and Betty is particularly ferocious with a rolling pin. They are all self-trained in keeping secrets about the bakery.)

"You don't happen to know anything about the plotting going on, do you?" he asks, one stuffy afternoon, just when Steve's clocking out for the day.

"I don't know anything, sir," comes the automatic response. Steve gives nothing away with the next few prodding questions, and Loki gives up his tries against the military training, and grumbles into the next batch of cupcakes.

Then he tries Clint, because he's very sure the police officers are in on it, given Clint's chumminess with the incorrigible businessman and Natasha's friendship with Peggy. (Again, he's not sure he would survive talking to Natasha with all his organs and limbs intact.)

Clint, predictably, gives nothing up. He just chuckles and bluntly calls Loki paranoid, but with a smile that Loki relents and decides to make sweets named after all of them. He already has a 'Hawkeye' design in mind.

When all else fails (even Bucky's lips are well sealed), he approaches Stark himself.

"What are you doing with my staff?" Loki asks impatiently, before Stark can insert his regular jibe about Loki's apron.

Stark looks up. "Nothin'," he mumbles around a cupcake. He seems to be thinner than usual, which is odd given that he stops by to gorge on pastries at least once a week. Stark swallows, and pats the chair next to him. "Sit down, Reindeer Games."

"Where's Pepper?" Loki takes the seat.

Stark winces. "My chaperone doesn't know I'm here. I am currently banned from the premises, in fact."

What? "Why?

"I don't eat a lot while I'm, ah, working," Stark says, shrugging. "Been developing several prototypes lately. For the Tower. We're taking a big step towards the Tower being self-sustaining. Clean and green. Pepper thinks I should be eating real food, not your stuff."

Now that Loki's a little closer, he can tell that Stark's not been sleeping a lot. He knows that Stark's famous for his engineering feats; the hands that are brushing away crumbs from his (well-fitted, if Loki says so himself) suit have calluses that speak of hard work.

"I work with my hands too, y'know," Stark says, with a grin that can only be described as boyish. He waggles his fingers, and Loki can't help but smile back. Damn.

He clears his throat. "So why are you here and not heeding her words?"

"She's off doing work at the moment. Probably doesn't even know that I'm out of the workshop, unless Jarvis snitched."

"Jarvis?"

"AI, best friend, substitute father, caretaker." Stark takes out his sleek phone, and fiddles around with it. "Here you go. Say hi to Jarvis. Jarvis, Loki; Loki, Jarvis."

" _Good afternoon, Mr. Loki,_ " a cultured voice says. " _To clarify, Mr. Stark created me as an assistant on his many projects. I have the honor of being one of Mr. Stark's longest companions._ " A pause, then, " _It may interest you to know that Miss Potts sometimes refers to me as a glorified babysi—_ "

"Okay, that's enough," Stark says hastily, switching the program off. Loki smirks at his flushed face. "Gotta work on his memory systems."

Loki hates that he's actually intrigued by this side of Stark, the gritty worker underneath the smooth, high-society, businessman exterior. The way that he handles his phone, for example, is quick but edged with respect for the craftsmanship. And he used the phrase 'substitute father', which is—which is interesting.

But back to the matter at hand.

"Something's happening in my shop, and it's revolving around you. I don't know what you are up to, Stark, but I urge you to desist," he says.

"I do what I want, Reindeer Games," Stark replies, leaning forward. "Okay, cards on the table. They think I'll be good for you—"

"I'm not a _thing_ to be played with," Loki snarls. He is going to bake them all into a cake with Stark as the icing and dump it in a sewer full of rats.

Stark lifts his hands up. "No, you're not. Shit." He rubs a hand over his face, and sighs tiredly. (Loki is mildly disgusted; Stark's hands are probably slightly greasy from the cupcake.) "Look. Would we be hot together? Sure. We would totally rock the bed together. I mean, I'm Tony Stark. You're Loki. We're hot as fuck. But you're also funny, and smart, and complicated, and I like puzzles. And you're not a thing. No one's a thing to be fucked over here, okay, Reindeer Games? All seriousness, your _friends_ think that you need to get that stick out of your amazing ass, and be more fun. Mischievous. And I'm notoriously awesome at partying, so."

Loki eyes the man, and reluctantly assesses that, yes, he is telling the truth. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Stark."

"That's disappointing, but okay," Stark says. "Just friends. With the possibility of future benefits."

Loki sniffs. "Unlikely."

"I'm optimistic," Stark replies cheerfully. "And call me Tony, would you? Stark just reminds me of my dad."

"Anthony." Loki blinks as he realizes how close their faces are. He thinks he can vaguely hear Darcy tittering to Betty. Shit.

"Loki," Stark says. His eyes are very brown, and his breath smells of sugar. Damn. "I know you're charmed by me right now, like a snake to music, but I'm not going to sleep with you."

A strangled screech escapes Loki's mouth. "You're this close to defenestration, Stark," he hisses, getting up.

"Whatever happened to 'Anthony', babe?" Stark starts sucking on his fingers as an attempt to look titillating. Loki is decidedly unimpressed, and rustles about in his pocket before handing over several paper napkins and storming back to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter! Number four should be up on Friday though :)


	4. Chapter 4

These days, Steve doesn't go home after his hours are up, even though Loki and Peggy are determined to keep him from working more than necessary. Loki's actually rather worried; Steve seems more down these days, after his talk with Coulson, and Loki can't help but feel marginally guilty. Coulson has disappeared from the bakery altogether, even if Clint and Natasha occasionally bring some pastries back to the precinct for him.

Steve, in fact, has declared that he's going to base at least one of his three works on the bakery. This means that Steve sits in the _konditori_ in the afternoon and sketches the people that come and go. His book, however, is off limits, which everyone thinks is unfair.

Naturally, this is why Steve is being cajoled by Natasha to show his artwork.

"What is she telling him?" Loki asks Clint in a soft whisper by the kitchen doors. He frowns, intrigued at how Natasha's gentle-sounding murmurs bely the death grip she has on the book.

Being slighter, Clint has to look up at Loki when he answers. All of a sudden, Loki feels like he's Clint's mother hawk, and tries to slouch down a little to reduce the height difference. "I have no clue, dude. She's like a magician when it comes to this stuff." Clint says. "She's a cold-blooded killer, my Black Widow," He smiles warmly at that statement, and Loki suppresses a small shiver.

Looking at the unusual couple, he can see that Natasha's posture is deliberately friendly yet predatory, uncannily like a spider waiting to strike. "You do know that the black widow spider eats her mate, right?" he says, glancing down at Clint, who looks unfazed.

"Dude, that's a myth; check yo facts. And that's kinda the best part of the sex." Clint turns his whole body towards Loki excitedly; Loki backs away just a little as Clint begins to postulate about the different sexual kinks he and Natasha go through in a week, stopping the flow of words when Clint starts to describe how they actually use Loki's pastries in bed (which sounds ridiculously messy and erotic at the same bloody time, dear god).

Red-faced, Loki shoos Darcy away, but not before she makes Clint promise to share more stories that Loki absolutely does not want to know. (Clint has some sugar on the side of his mouth; Loki actually has an urge to thumb it away and lick it up. Perhaps Sif is right, and Loki needs to get laid.) He looks to see Natasha being crushed in a hug by Steve, and thankfully has a flashback to being squashed by Thor, which effectively kills the stirring in his blood.

So does the indignant squawk that Clint emits after seeing several sketches of himself. "My ass is perkier than that, Rogers! Look!"

Loki sighs and goes to keep Steve from sticking his pen into the flesh of his little hawkling's backside.

*

It has been a while since Sif has a night off; when Loki steps into their flat, she swivels her chair around like a Bond villainess, a glass of red wine in hand.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," he says, settling his things down before collapsing into the couch. His back aches like all hell.

Sif smirks and hands him a glass, receiving a raised eyebrow in thanks. Sif can be a goddess, when she wants to and when Loki's in a forgiving mood. "I suppose you want to speak about Stark."

"Yes." Loki downs a gulp of the wine and ignores the way Sif wrinkles her nose at his positively barbaric behavior. _Loki_ would react the same way, if he wasn't so exhausted. Steve had taken offense at being mooned by the off-duty police officer, even if Darcy was very enthusiastic about it. A table lies mangled somewhere in the back alley, and Loki's pretty sure that Natasha's heel is still embedded in the counter.

Loki doesn't understand how his life came to be like this.

Sif sighs, and beckons him to sit down on the carpet in front of her, strong hands massaging his shoulders. (Loki dares not call out in pain; it hurts in a good way. Sometimes.) "You need to stop controlling everything. It's why it didn't work out before, you know."

Loki knows she's referring to Angelique and Brody, and feels vaguely guilty. There is, within him, a need for certainty, for a knowledge of how all the factors fall in place. Baking is a scientific process, something mechanical yet alive. Precise, but not _truly_ , with enough leeway for Loki to maneuver. He needs that space for—for escape. (And it shames him.)

"I do not like him," he says at last, leaning back with his eyes closed. "He is so annoying, Sif. Even as an acquaintance, all I want to do with him is to bury him in a flowerpot and throw him out of a window." His fingers clench and unclench around the wineglass.

"Lie," Sif replies serenely, hands leaving Loki's shoulders to braid his hair. (Loki steadfastly refuses to think about how Thor would allow him to weave flowers into his golden hair, when they were younger. That is for another night of red wine and jazz music.) "You find him interesting. You think that maybe he's more than a little like you. And, just so you know, on most days, many of your friends would like to toss you off a cliff."

"They do not," Loki splutters.

Sif pats his head in mocking compassion. "Of course they do," she croons. "You're stubborn, rigid, and you have a terrible temper. You're like water, _is prins_ , always fickle to a fault. But we love you nonetheless, because you're also incredibly talented, and you're kindhearted when you let down your guard."

Loki squirms. "You're drunk."

"And you engage in too much self-pity," Sif points out. "Stark is something different. He's like Clint, but cranked up to a higher degree. You could learn how to be a little wilder from him, more relaxed."

"Irresponsible," Loki mutters into his wine. "And you don't want me chaotic."

Sif pauses, as they both think about _Loki_ and _chaos_ , and she shakes her head ruefully. "Not chaotic, no," she says, smiling. "I don't think New York can handle you fully unleashed. But wild, perhaps. The city can handle Darcy; it can handle a little wild Loki."

"He did say we could be just friends," Loki murmurs, as Sif's hands resume the massage. Stark— _Tony_ —had included a joke in their last conversation a week ago, but he had been sincere in his offer of friendship. "I suppose," Loki says slowly, huffing out a breath, "I suppose this might be a good thing."

"Excellent," Sif says brusquely. "We're all going out next Friday to that club you like. Dress nice. Be nice. Sleep well, _is prins_." She presses a quick kiss to the top of his head, and goes to bed.

Loki is very sure that his relationship with Sif is not healthy.

*

Sif refuses to budge on the upcoming Late Night Out, despite all of Loki's threats and pleas. Tuned out by his roommate, Loki tries begging his employees and erstwhile friends for help, which is a fruitless task.

He even goes to the extent to get himself a date on Friday, but there are too many people who effortlessly cockblock him every single time. _Jane_ stole herself a date with a Donald Blake. It is insane. Loki could scream. (He did, into the back alley with the destroyed table. Steve sketched him doing it. Loki yelled at him for it, and had to apologize to everyone afterwards.)

"If it's any comfort, I promise to show you a good time," Tony says (Loki is trying his hardest to be _nice_ , especially after the tantrum), back from a trip to Japan (Loki misses that blissful Tony-less week), "if you know what I mean. I'm even more fun when I'm drunk."

Loki thinks back on his very first meeting with Tony, and groans into his folded arms.

The only consolation he gets comes from a stiff-looking Steve Rogers, who commiserates with Loki simply on the basis that he too has to attend this Late Night Out. They clink their mugs of coffee together morosely.

*

"Nice to see you back again, Trickster!" a man yells good-naturedly, and Loki glares in his direction before shooting a dirty look at Sif. He avoids this club for the same reason that Sif keeps dragging him back.

"Trickster, huh?" Tony asks, with a smirk. As if on cue, other voices scattered around the club call out the dreaded nickname as various regulars spot Loki. "Bet there's a story behind that name."

"He graced the lap of a Norse mythology buff with a dance." Sif pushes past them to get to the bar, and Loki could strangle her, he could, especially when Tony takes advantage of the pulsing dancers to press himself closer to Loki's side. "It was filthy." (Loki can probably get away with cutting her hair as she sleeps, he thinks. Possibly even get to the door before she murders him with a well-thrown bunny slipper.)

Tony looks vaguely impressed, his leer lit up by the multi-colored strobe lights. "Interesting."

"I was drunk, and it was not," Loki spits out, and signals the bartender. That's partly untruth; from what he remembers of the night, which is next to nothing, he had fun. He woke up the next morning with a number scrawled onto his arm, a bite mark on his shoulder, and a fuzzy smile on his face. Then the hangover kicked in, which was made worse when Loki discovered the pictures Sif took. He smashed a mug with his bare hands when Darcy showed him the video.

He truly hopes that Darcy knows not to traumatize Steve too much.

Tony leans against the bar top and finally lowers his obnoxious-looking shades. "Buy you a drink then? I'm no history nerd, but I could do with a dirty dance. Been a long day."

"You have a meeting at noon, Tony!" Pepper calls from behind them. She requested to join for two reasons, the first being the need to look after Tony, and the second being the need to wind down after a stressful few months. "No sex."

"I wasn't going to offer," Loki says dryly, but his reply goes unnoticed when Tony turns around to whine (and bargain) with Pepper. Rolling his eyes, he thanks the bartender when his drink arrives, and leans back to watch as Steve hesitantly follows Clint and Natasha to the dance floor. "You really think it's a good idea?" he asks Darcy, who giggles beside him.

"Sure. It'll get his mind off of Steve. And it's hot," she answers. Loki can agree with the latter statement. Clint and Natasha have Steve sandwiched in between their bodies, and there is definite _grinding_ going on. Steve himself looks like he's torn between discomfort and enjoyment; Loki raises his glass to him and grins.

*

`**@warriorsif (1h ago):** watching a drunk person attempt to play plants vs zombies for the first time is the BEST`

`**@mjolnirodinson (1h ago):** @warriorsif lol`

`**@warriorsif (54m ago):** @mjolnirodinson would you believe me if i said it was loki`

`**@mjolnirodinson (52m ago):** @warriorsif what!!!!`

`**@warriorsif (47m ago):** @mjolnirodinson it was the cutest thing pic.twitter.com…`

`**@mjolnirodinson (48m ago):** @warriorsif awwwwww`

`**@mjolnirodinson (40m ago):** @warriorsif wait who is that man in his lap`

`**@warriorsif (39m ago):** @mjolnirodinson THE anthony stark if you can believe it`

`**@warriorsif (38m ago):** @mjolnirodinson also you should know that i put stark in loki's room`

`**@mjolnirodinson (35m ago):** @warriorsif skype NOW`

`**@warriorsif (5m ago):** @mjolnirodinson its going to be fine. i'll look out for him.`

`**@mjolnirodinson (4m ago):** @warriorsif tyvm`

`**@warriorsif (4m ago):** @mjolnirodinson they're still cuddling like puppies omg`

`**@mjolnirodinson (3m ago):** @warriorsif stop`

*

Loki still doesn't see how Sif can drink herself sober, but it has happened countless times, so he just goes with it when she swans into his room at 9 in the morning with coffee and bagels. He's too busy dealing with the pounding in his head, and the shite cottony feeling in his mouth that makes him think that his drunk self must have gone wading through a sewer the previous night. That, and the body draped over him.

"What is he doing here?" Loki grits out, as Sif sets the drinks and food on his bedside table.

"You two had a great time last night," Sif whispers, and thrusts her phone into his face.

Oh god. Loki snatches the phone and stares at the picture of Tony and he curled up into each other on the sofa hysterically giggling at something or other on Tony's own phone. The next one is him wearing Tony's sunglasses and striking a ridiculous pose. There is a short clip of them dancing to Gangnam Style with Clint and Darcy. There is a video of _Pepper_ rapping to Nicki Minaj.

"Hey," Pepper says, stepping in from the en-suite bathroom. Her hair is a wild halo around her face, and there is a shower cap hanging unconsciously off her shoulder. She must have slept in Loki's bathtub. "Remind him that he has that meeting at noon." She sneaks out, and Loki shakes his head; he'll never look at her the same way again.

"How is she sober?" he croaks, just as Tony shifts, his mouth suddenly sucking on Loki's collarbone.

Sif takes a moment to laugh at the sight; Loki winces, and refuses to hand the phone back until he nudges Tony off his chest. "I don't know. I think she's Superwoman."

Shit. Steve. "Where's Steve?" he hisses, heart racing. The last memory he has of seeing Steve was of him and _Coulson_. Coulson had shown up halfway through the night. "What happened to them?"

Sif waves for him to calm down. "Steve got a little tipsy, so Coulson helped to get him here with us. He's a nice guy. Clint and Natasha and Darcy and—and Peggy and Bucky took cabs back home." She yawns suddenly, pitching forward a little. "I think I'm gonna crash," she murmurs, and climbs under the covers, ruthlessly kicking Tony off the bed.

Loki watches dispassionately as Tony comes awake with a yelp, and downs the aspirin that Sif brought along. The apartment is pretty much silent apart from Tony's groans and Sif's snores; perhaps Coulson and Steve are asleep somewhere else.

*

It takes half an hour for Loki to become semi-conscious and feel less like shite, so he's mildly impressed when he comes back into his bedroom to see Tony up and munching away on his bagel rather happily.

"I think they're up," Tony mumbles around a mouthful of bread, pointing a finger at the still-closed door. Sure enough, there are sounds of people moving about—the sofa, Loki thinks.

He is slightly ashamed a moment after; he and Tony both hurry to press their ears back against his door when the murmurs of voices come through.

 _"I watched you sleep,"_ Loki hears Coulson actually say, and chokes on his coffee.

"Way to sound like a creeper, Phil," Tony says, scoffing. Loki looks down at his own arm unbelievingly, as Tony just continues his commentary without a care for the chunks of bagel spewing out of his mouth, and brushes the crumbs away in disdain.

"As if you have better pick-up lines," Loki mutters. His own bagel receives a tiny but vicious bite.

Tony turns to him. "I don't need pick-up lines, sweetheart," he says, and gives a smug grin. Loki itches to throw his bagel in his face. "I mean, look at us. You, me, your room. On a bed." He begins to make creaking noises, and Loki goes as far as to genuinely aim the bread at Tony's obnoxious mouth.

"You are infuriating," Loki says, putting his ear back against the door, with a sharp elbow to Tony's side. "And Sif is in it."

"What can I say? I'm kinky. You love me like that, babe," Tony breathes against Loki's cheek, close enough for his stubble to rub against his skin, and Loki, fed up with this _man_ , shoves his bagel into Tony's wide open, whisky-smelling mouth.

 _"—anyway, thanks for, uh, looking out for me. And I'll definitely go for that concert on Sunday. I can't wait to meet her,"_ Steve says, and Loki frowns. What concert? Who's this 'her'?

"Hey babe," Tony begins, but Loki shushes him, a slim finger placed against Tony's lips. He ignores Tony's cross-eyed look and his giggle, focusing on the voices in the hall.

He doesn't hear anything for a moment, then Coulson says, _"Yeah, she's, uh, pretty great. Good luck for your project. It's looking pretty good."_

Loki waits for the sound of the front door shutting before he walks out quietly, Tony stumbling after him. He sets his coffee down on the side table and sits down next to Steve, who looks scarily blank-faced.

"Hey," he says, placing a hand lightly on Steve's knee. Steve jerks up straight, as if he's only just spotted Loki. "Are you alright?"

Steve blinks a few times, his guard still down as evident by the flashes of emotions that Loki takes in with a grave feeling in his heart. "Yeah," he finally says, pulling a stony shield over his face. He remains silent for another minute before he blurts out, "Phil's seeing this cellist from Portland. It's fine; I told him to move on first anyway. Not fair of him to wait, you know?"

Loki's grip on Steve's knee tightens a little. He's glad that Tony hasn't made any sound since sprawling onto the living room carpet. "I see," he murmurs, and winces at the over-bright smile that Steve gives him.

"I'm going to her concert this Sunday, and after that we're going to have dinner. Just the three of us." Steve's smile falters, and he looks, suddenly, younger than his age and experience. "I think," he says softly, looking up at Loki, "I think I need to go in to work today."

"If that's what you want." Loki understands wanting to bury emotions in work, into kneading dough and rolling out pastry. For months after he first found out, after he left with Sif, he only felt better after getting drunk and/or in the kitchen. Dough is quite an effective punching bag.

"It's kind of what I need, rather than what I want," Steve says, barking a short laugh. "You can't always get what you want; isn't that how the song goes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being a day late, and for not replying to comments recently, but at least this chapter's of a decent length! The black widow spider cannabalising her mate _is_ more of the exception rather than the rule—who says fic-writing doesn't make you learn new stuff? I tried to address the fact that, yes, Loki does have a pretty dysfunctional relationship with his friends, so hopefully that came through a little. Drunk!Loki playing Plants Vs. Zombies came from the real-life experience I had with forcing my friend to play the game all of a sudden during lunch, and cackling while I watched her flail. It is really one of the more hilarious things in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow, the days go by. Time is dulled now, with Steve trying valiantly to act like Coulson's relationship with the Portland cellist isn't hurting him from the inside out, and Loki's worried; he knows what can happen when a person tries their hardest to pretend like everything's peachy when it's fucking not.

Steve has managed to haggle for more hours back at the bakery, which is both a relief and a worry. On the one hand, Loki's glad to have another assistant around to help, but on the other, there is a startling absence of Frank Sinatra being hummed or sung in the kitchen.

As such, Natasha has been teaching Steve yoga. This should be a good thing, but the problem is that Steve does yoga very well. He's almost as flexible as Loki, and though he's not as quick on his feet as Natasha (who everyone thinks is a secret ninja; Clint refuses to confirm this, which is a confirmation in itself), he looks very attractive while getting his body to contort into various positions.

It's not a problem for Steve per se, it's more of a problem for Loki. Now, when he heads to the nearby gym to work out with Natasha and Steve, there is a group of extraneous faces plastered to the glass walls. Which would be fine, because Loki kind of adores the attention—he knows he looks as attractive as Steve and Natasha—but now that Tony Stark has become one of said faces: _Non._

Loki glares at him through the transparent panels the third time this happens. Tony blows him a kiss. Pepper just looks vaguely amused, and shoves more papers into Tony's lap. She actually thanked Loki for giving Tony a reason to sit down somewhere other than his workshop bench and the bakery, and it's only because of her thinly-veiled threat that Loki is carrying on with his regular yoga sessions and not canceling them in a fit of pique.

"Loki," Natasha breathes from the front of the room, folding herself delicately into a dog pose. "You're disrupting the flow." Underneath her words is a sharp reminder to _ignore the little fucker_. Meanwhile Steve looks at him as if he's harming a puppy, before shutting his eyes and stretching himself out. Loki huffs, indignant, and follows suit.

That is, until a camera flash goes off.

Eyes wide open now, Loki stares at the bizarre scenario of Sif chasing down a paparazzo; half of his mind is occupied with images of the papers gossiping about Tony Stark's new love interest (or even _interests_ —dear god, he needs to protect Steve!), the other half fascinated by the way Sif tackles the man to the ground.

Steve lets out a long whistle of admiration.

Outside, Tony is approaching the paparazzo with Pepper at his side, probably about to negotiate a price for the photo and his silence in exchange for protection from Sif, who just nods in Loki's direction.

"Excuse me," Natasha says, quite suddenly appearing before them. Her falsely serene demeanor is terrifying; even Steve takes a step back. "We were in the middle of something, I believe."

They finish the cooling-down exercises, Loki for the first time impatient to complete everything just so that he can find out what happened; Tony and Pepper have disappeared, and Sif's gone back to her self-defense class, which seems to have swelled in number within the past few minutes.

Natasha's clearly annoyed by his twitchy behavior, stabbing a finger into his chest sharply before stalking off.

Loki wonders out loud, "Why are the women in my life so terrifying?" and gets a mute shrug from Steve in reply. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder in commiseration, and they head out of the gym together, Loki looking out for a sign of Tony and Pepper but finding none.

Just as they're at the apartment building, Loki's phone rings, and causes him to fumble with the mat under his arms; Steve kindly helps as Loki answers with a curt hello.

" _Trickster!_ " Tony says, and Loki grinds his teeth together so hard that Steve stares at him in concern. Motioning that he's fine, and that Steve should just head on home first, Loki leans against the cool brick wall and waits for Tony to stop rattling through his praise for Loki's body.

His patience runs out fast. "What is the point of this call, Stark?" Loki barks, after Tony manages to babble about Loki's calves for the third time. It's flattering, to be honest, but to the point of being plain bothersome. "How did you get this number anyway?

" _Would you be unhappy if I told you the truth and said that I hacked Steve's phone when I offered to upgrade it from that prehistoric POS he had since he was fifteen?_ "

Loki resignedly sighs. "About the guy at the gym—"

" _Oh yes! He got a real nice shot of you bending over in that dog pose, which, Reindeer Games, was totally hot. Just sayin'. Anyway, your buddy Sif almost knocked him out—hey, she wouldn't be interested in doing some security work, would she? I got a vault somewhere that I gotta open in a few days—and Pepper and I handled the rest._ " A pause, and then, " _I gotta apologize for that shit, y'know. We're kinda friends, right? And it wasn't cool for that to happen, so—_ "

"No, she's happy with her job, but I'll ask her, and how much was it? I'll cover half," Loki says, hoping that Pepper had the sense to destroy the photo.

" _No can do, bubs. Hang on._ " AC/DC comes blasting on, as obnoxious as Stark himself.

Loki stares at the phone in his hand as if it owes him an explanation for how his life is being turned into some twisted comedy show. "It is unfunny," he hisses quietly at the device, and puts it back to his ear when the song abruptly stops. "Yes?"

" _Pay me back with a date. One date. We'll go to the Met, because there's some pretentious arty thing that you'll like, and then a restaurant that serves the best ravioli, and I'll walk you back to your place._ "

There is in fact an exhibition that Loki's been meaning to check out, so he pauses to consider the offer for a moment.

" _Oh my god, just say yes already!_ " Darcy shrieks into his ear, and Loki nearly falls over.

"What the hell?" he snarls, but he's soon overpowered by a cacophony of voices urging him to say yes—he can make out Clint singing karaoke in the background, with Sif positively yelling at the phone. The noise sounds oddly echo-ey, and it becomes clear when he looks up just in time to see Steve waving sheepishly from three floors up. His apartment's been invaded.

" _Earth to Loki, hello?_ " Tony's shut off the channel to Loki's landline; he can hear a chorus of disappointed moans floating through the air.

The thing is, Loki's still curious. Tony's an aggravating shit, but Loki's difficult too, on most days, and Loki is a huge sucker for intelligent mysteries like Tony Stark. There's more to the billionaire playboy blah blah labels that attach themselves to him, and Loki kind of wants to see the man behind them. Sif also had a point, during their talk all those weeks ago: Tony is _wild_. And though Loki remembers close to nothing from that drunken night out, he does recall having a good time.

"Fine," he bites out, glad that the rest aren't listening in. "One day out. No one will call it a date, you don't call me by any of those infernal nicknames, and you stop pestering me about making you a customized cupcake."

" _You did it for Steve,_ " Tony whines. " _I'll pick you up at three, kitten._ "

"Not a kitten," Loki snaps, and ends the call to over-the-top meows from Tony.

Now to deal with the rabble upstairs.

*

Another result of the Steve-Coulson deadlock drama is that Steve is now invested in the slowly-developing Loki-Tony drama.

"It's unhealthy for them to push you two together," Steve explains, when Loki stares at him in baleful betrayal. Mrs Rogers looks amused, pottering about in the kitchen and pretending that she's not eavesdropping on the conversation in her living room. "But I think Tony, as," he pauses, searching for the right word, "as _tangled_ as he is, might be interesting."

Loki groans. The clock says that it's five to three. He slept on this very same couch the night before, having gone down to the second-floor and pleading for sanctuary, since his so-called friends simply chose to completely take over his apartment for a massive sleepover. Clint refused to leave Loki's bed, where he'd erected some sort of pillow fort. Natasha glared at Loki when he tried appealing to her to get away from the kitchen knives. The coffee table needs to be sanitized now that he's seen Peggy and Bucky on it while Darcy and Sif warbled along to One Direction on the TV screen.

And now Steve is going over to the dogs.

"You don't even like Tony," he points out, sipping his tea.

"He, uh, fondues a lot." Loki would suspect that Steve's reluctance to use the proper f-word is due to the presence of his mother, if not for the fact that he just heard Mrs Rogers mutter a complaint about Steve's stubborn refusal to use said word as she walked past. "And he can be abrasive, but I think he and you have things in common. He might make you happy."

"Or give me an aneurysm," Loki says, when he hears the roar of an engine pull up outside, as well as the telling blast of AC/DC. "Sure you wouldn't like to come with us?" he asks hopefully, getting up to put his cup away, and nodding his thanks to Mrs Rogers.

"Oh no," Steve answers with a cheerful pat to Loki's back as they head on out. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of the date."

"Not a date." Loki smooths down his attire—dark jeans, a green shirt, and a scarf—and runs a hand through his hair, the one obnoxious curl still standing up at the back though he's tried everything apart from snipping it right off. "Right." Off to the gallows.

"Good morrow, darling," Tony greets him over his shades, and Loki doesn't know whether to be offended at that or the fact that Tony's unashamedly checking him out—again. "Apple bottom jeans, _indeed_ , my good sir."

Steve flushes, Mrs Rogers titters, and Loki brushes right past Tony to get into the overly flashy red sports car.

*

Tony manages to keep to all the conditions that Loki set; he does not call their non-date a date, he refrains from speaking Loki's various nicknames, and he never once mentions his desire for Loki to make him a customized cupcake. He does, however, talk Loki's ear off about everything and anything, which started off annoying but became rather soothing.

Tony knows a remarkable lot about the exhibition, and explains his knowledge of art off-handedly as a mixture of _I just wanted to know_ , _Pepper made me do it_ , and _I was brought up with this shit, don'tcha know?_ Loki is taken aback at the idea of the Dutch and French paintings being referred to so crudely, but gets Tony's point.

"I didn't get much exposure to the arts when I was growing up," Loki admits, as they walk out of the museum. He supposes that a younger Tony couldn't have enjoyed having to learn about art by force, but still Loki's rather jealous of the opportunities he must have had.

"Stuck in the kitchen, were you?" Tony smirks, but there's no malicious intent, unlike Fandral's old grins.

Loki can't help but smile back in reply, recalling how he used to shut himself up in his room or the kitchen, tongue sticking out while he tried his hardest to figure out Grandma Bestla's handwriting. "Thor never really understood my love for baking," he says, then bits his lip; he didn't mean to let that slip out. In response to Tony's surprisingly silent curious look, Loki sighs and explains: "Thor's my elder brother. He, ah, he was more of a jock, I believe that's what you might call him here. My father, Odin," and here he has to stop himself from sneering, because Odin is not his father, not by a mile, "and he always thought of my interests in baking as something to be hidden away."

The mixed feelings of anger and sadness rise up again, and Loki has to swallow to keep them down. He looks, unseeing, at the sky. Does he miss Thor? Yes, of course, he does. Thor and he were the best of friends once, when they were young boys running circles around their parents and falling over each other to get to the dinner table first. Bright, shining Thor, who never let Odin's expectations down, who unknowingly—Loki holds on to the belief that it was unintentional—smiled along while others laughed at Loki's preference of staying buried in cookbooks to doing various rough-and-tumble sports.

Does he miss _Odin_? Truthfully (and in this, Loki lies to himself often, but in a rare moment of weakness, he does not do so now) he does, even if it is marred by resentment. Loki misses Frigga most of all, misses the caramel-sticky kisses he used to give her on her cheek and the ones she would plant on his forehead while he tried to wriggle away, the floral smell of the powder she'd use before she went out to work, and her bubbling laughter like the brook that threaded its way through their garden.

"Hey," Tony says quietly, the brush of his hand against Loki's hesitant enough to prevent Loki from jerking away, "you alright?"

Loki swallows again; he didn't mean to get caught up in memories. What is wrong with him today? "Yes. I'm fine. Sorry, we'd best be going, yes?" He's glad when Tony doesn't push for more, even when they're back in the car. Tony just continues nattering as if he'd never stopped, switching from Tom Cruise to quantum physics in a heartbeat. Loki understands only half of what he says, but is glad nonetheless.

*

Loki is quite impressed that Tony brought him to a little family diner instead of some fancy restaurant, and their ravioli is certainly one of the best Loki's ever eaten.

When he finally opens his eyes after thoroughly enjoying his last bite, Loki finds himself looking at a rather stunned Tony; "What?" he asks, a tad self-conscious at the other man's open mouth and flushed cheeks.

"That was an interesting noise," Tony blurts out after a moment or two, and it's Loki's turn to go completely red in the face. Tony recovers with a smirk, and Loki swallows down half a glass of water before they leave. The night wind is wonderfully brisk against his cheeks when they step out; Loki doesn't say no when Tony suggests that he walk Loki back to his apartment. "You know, I expected you to ask about the arc reactor by now. I've seen you looking at my fabulous chest."

Tony's casual tone does nothing to stop Loki from going rigid with guilt. It feels bad to be curious about such a private yet over-publicized trauma in Tony's life, but Loki is intrigued. He stares at Tony's back while he gives instructions to Jarvis to take the car to Loki's building.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Stretch," Tony says, nudging Loki with a sharp elbow. Loki forgives him the nickname—this time. "Everyone does it. I'll show you some time, when we're not freezing our balls off. It's round and shiny—the arc reactor, not my balls—and it's a pain in my ass when I want to go to sleep. Which isn't often, because who has time for sleep, anyway, when there're so many ideas running around your head, y'know? Pepper hates it, but I've got Jarvis prepping coffee when I need it, and she never finds out where I hide my single malt anyway, at least not all of my stash." He pauses to scratch his beard. "She's like Elizabeth Swan from that pirates movie. Does that make me Johnny Depp? Because I could probably work a sword. And that hat."

"Tell me more about Jarvis," Loki says, though the idea of Pepper as a governor's daughter-turned-pirate is strangely fitting for the redhead.

Tony warms to the topic. "Howard wasn't around much, too busy being _Mr Stark_ and uninvested in the idea of being _Dad_ , y'know. And mom tried, I guess, but it couldn't have been easy being married to Howard. So I turned to electronics and engineering. Science!" He makes a dramatic fistpump, and Loki laughs; it isn't hard to imagine a young Tony Stark poring over complicated diagrams and wielding a soldering iron. "Don't get me wrong, it still sucked, but it could've been a lot worse. I made Jarvis, and he's been pretty useful ever since. He helped save my life when this thing tried to fucking poison me, the bastard." A dull clink can be heard when Tony taps the middle of his chest, even underneath the layers of cloth.

"What happened?" They're a block away now, the diner being a short distance away from Loki's home. Loki deliberately slows his pace, and ignores Tony's snicker when he notices what Loki's doing.

"Long story short, we found some old shit belonging to Howard with a hidden message inside. Jarv and I managed to synthesize the new element and voila! Me, alive, with a new arc reactor, and as hot as ever." Tony's leer fades a little as he continues, "That's possibly a good reason why Pepper nags me so much, huh? We dated before, can you believe it, Stretch? Pep's awesome, but even she couldn't handle me and death being such good pals."

Loki hums softly. He's learned quite a bit about Tony, willingly or not, and he actually likes it. He had fun, even with the little slip about Odin and Thor earlier. "You have a formidable mind, Tony Stark," he says, as they reach Loki's building, and shares a quick smile with the other man. "I enjoyed myself today, in spite of your chatty mouth."

Just then, Tony's car pulls up at the curb, Jarvis switching on the radio to some godawful cheesy love song. "Verily, Stretch," Tony says, grinning. "Do I get a goodnight kiss, kitten?"

Loki scowls, and elbows him out of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for the long wait! It's been a busy few weeks, and the next few are going to be rougher, as exams are coming along. (And then I'll be heading to Perth for a fortnight, oops.) That said, I aim to have the next chapter up in a week and a bit. Thanks for sticking with this; concrit is always welcome, as are your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

Drastic times call for drastic measures, so when Loki next sees Coulson—which happens to be in the middle of the supermarket—he zooms in. A quick glance at his cart shows that he's buying for one, which somewhat corroborates Clint's hissed whisper that he and the cellist from Portland are no longer a couple.

"Hello, Phil," Loki says pleasantly, accidentally knocking his basket against Coulson's leg. Coulson doesn't buy it one bit; he slowly rubs at the place where the sharp corner met flesh, and nods brusquely back in greeting. "How's life?"

Loki doesn't appreciate the fact that everyone at the bakery voted for him to 'confront' Coulson, barring Steve, who's still unaware of any developments. If Loki's telling the truth, he is being _blackmailed_. Especially after they found out that he'd in fact seen and said hi to Coulson at the library. Tony was all too willing to offer his _lip services_.

"Life is about as unpredictable as Barton's range of underwear." Coulson sighs, and reaches over to tap at Loki's left ear. "If you don't wish to use your vacation wisely, Clint, I'm glad to donate them to someone else. Maria has a sick aunt she'd like to visit."

Clint thinks he's an actual spy. Loki rolls his eyes and allows Coulson to remove the squawking communication device from his person. "Thank you."

"I suppose you're here to talk to me about Steve." They walk down the cereal aisle together. Loki picks up plain cornflakes, and Frosties for Sif. Coulson takes a box of Rice Krispies. "The kids like 'em. Melt some marshmallows and mix them with these, and they're a hit. My nephews and nieces," he explains, and Loki resists the urge to roll his eyes at the strangled awwww that escapes Natasha's well-hidden device. Why they allowed Darcy to be part of this operation, he has no idea.

Loki steels himself, and continues walking. "Yes, quite. Are you intending to pursue him now that your lady is no longer part of the equation?"

Coulson eyes him. "If he's still interested." His tone is mild, but Coulson is warily plucking a box of Pop Tarts off the shelf. Loki suppresses a shudder. Pop Tarts are odd confectionaries to consume.

Loki would very much like to tell him exactly _how_ interested Steve is. Steve, who is still pining over Coulson despite his increasingly cheery exterior. Steve has submitted his paintings for his project, and at least one of them bears a resemblance to Coulson, even if he's only painted a smile. The suit gave it away. Coulson has a very distinctive eagle tie clip.

Natasha coughs delicately.

"Let's go for a drink," he declares instead with a sharp smile.

*

"You lack conviction," Phil slurs.

Loki snorts into his third glass of whiskey. "I do not."

How exactly the conversation turned from Steve to Tony, Loki isn't sure, but he suspects that this is why Phil is Natasha's superior. (Somewhere along the line, Coulson also became Phil, if only because Loki's drink-addled mind kept thinking of how Thor would call him the Son of Coul, as if that made _any_ sense at all.) Still, he's managed, through sleight-of-hand, to get Phil reasonably tipsy and talkative. Tit for tat, after all. One must give away a few secrets to loosen another's tongue.

"See, you like him, he likes you. The UST is killing me, and I haven't even been in your bakery in months." Phil hiccups, and calls for another drink. "You know what UST is, right; it stands for unresolved sex—"

"I know what it means. I read fanfiction," Loki says, pouting, then realizes what he's just admitted to Coulson, Natasha, and whoever else is listening in. He adds hastily, "It's all Darcy's fault, and it definitely doesn't apply to Tony and I."

"It does too," Phil leans in to murmur, and grins a very un-Coulson-like grin.

"What about you? The same can be said of your relationship with Steve." Watching as Phil sobers up a little, adjusting the knot of his tie, Loki sips his whiskey.

"This isn't healthy, what you all are doing, is it? Tugging on each other's strings?"

He doesn't look away. "I'm afraid not. We're in each other's webs now," he says with a twisted smirk, Natasha's approval of his metaphor a soft hum in his ear.

Phil clears his throat. "Here's a tip. Don't tug on mine." When he stands up, Loki bewilderedly notes the straightened back and clear eyes, and feels like a fool. "Tell Natasha I said hi."

Natasha mutters something that sounds like Russian; Loki downs the drink and rips the tiny device out of his ear, hand shooting out to grab Phil's arm. He's thinner than Phil, with much less martial arts expertise, but it's sufficient to stop Phil from moving off.

"Listen." Loki hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "Steve is interested, to say the least. I would suggest that you talk to him about that mutual interest. Without any of them—us—putting our noses where they certainly do not belong. My _comrades_ , shall we say, have no sense of boundaries to speak of. He is not a delicate flower, nor are we his white knights." Loki grimaces at the thought. "But he is _ours_ , Phil Coulson, and you will not hurt him." The 'again' is implied, though slightly unfair.

Phil remains silent for a minute, shaking off Loki's grip. "I know what Natasha can do with her thighs," he says, finally, his tone neutral.

"He's going to the Met on Thursday at three." Loki slumps down at the bar tiredly after Phil takes his leave, reporting back to Natasha and Darcy in a few curt sentences. The empty glass stares back at him dully, and Loki scowls as he realizes that not only has Phil left him with the bill, he's left Loki with the wrong bag of groceries as well. He glares at the offending box of Pop Tarts and orders another drink.

*

`**Clint:** _eagle approaching captain_`

`**Natasha:** _You are not a spy._`

`**Clint:** _oh cmon tash!!!_`

`**Clint:** _im doing a voiceover now its like watching a silent romantic movie_`

`**Natasha:** _Stop calling me. No, we are not watching The Notebook again._`

`**Clint:** _but its a classic :(_`

`**Clint:** _aw theyre at the tug-of-war phase_`

`**Clint:** _eagle holding captains hand_`

`**Clint:** _eagle leaning in for the kill oh yeah_`

`**Clint:** _abort abort ive been comprom_`

*

Clint's glad that everyone finds it funny. He is. It's really pissing funny. He's pissing himself. This is the _shit_.

"It was either this or lose my custom cupcake, okay? And it's been selling like hotcakes as it _should_ , too," he tells a laughing Tony for the thousandth time. Tony's been snapping pictures of him all day and calling him Big Bird. "'Sides, your boyfriend isn't happy with you either."

That makes Tony turn around to see Loki tapping his feet and looking very annoyed. It's not an improvement over how he he looks almost every fucking day, but Clint's pretty sure that Tony's on Loki's shit list, because it's the exact same look Loki gave him when he ran into the bakery pleading for sanctuary from Coulson and Steve. It hadn't worked, the begging, since all Loki did was to remind Clint that he had warned them from interfering, hold him captive for the duo (who were rather adorably like the parents Clint wished he'd had growing up), and suggest his current punishment.

Asshole.

Tony leaves Clint alone to deal with the next kid and her parents, slinking away to pacify Loki somehow. Clint suspects that another huge fake animal is about to take over his spot once his weeklong predicament ends (Natasha is a double-agent and also surprisingly resourceful; Pepper had also voiced her approval of such a marketing move with a contemplative glance at Tony) and so ruffles the feathers of the suit as much as he can for the excited little girl.

*

Watching Tony deal with the swarm of children lining up to meet a penguin in the middle of June is _something_.

"That's the third time you've smiled today, which makes it the tenth in the two days since he started. What do you know, you do lack conviction after all," Phil says as he passes Loki en route to the kitchen.

Loki turns scarlet. "I hope you choke," he hisses.

Phil takes a cheerful bite out of his Steve-themed Captain America cupcake and waltzes off to meet the man in person. The sugary sweetness of his new relationship with Steve in the air is suffocating. Loki's happy for them, they all are, but even Darcy's sweet tooth has had enough. She's refused to step into the kitchen ever again after she caught them _nuzzling noses_ together even if, as she reported with a dreamy smile, the kiss was hot.

Loki glares balefully at the wobbling penguin figure outside his bakery. Another happy squeal makes him smile _again_ , damn it. He didn't anticipate this when Natasha told him about a penguin suit she could borrow for Tony.

"He is cute with them, isn't he?" Betty says, nudging his elbow.

Loki covers his face with his palm and groans. Ever since Steve and Phil became an overly sweet thing, everyone's attention has shifted back to Loki and Tony, with the added bonus of the new couple. Betty is probably the only one sympathetic to Loki, apart from the occasional rescues he gets from a guilty-looking Steve, but all of them are definitely rooting for something to develop between Tony and Loki.

"He is," Loki concedes bleakly, as a peal of childish laughter floats through the hum of the afternoon. "Have you ever thought about having children?" he blurts out, before biting his lip. Betty doesn't like to share about her personal life much, even more so than Loki.

"Yes," she answers, surprisingly. "I met a guy a long time ago, and thought he was the one. My father disapproved." There's an ugly twist to her usually sweet smile. "Well, not really. He wanted to use Bruce and his work, so it was more like I disapproved of my father. He's actually quite good with children, Tony Stark. I never expected that."

Loki agrees, allowing Betty to convince him into baking a special cupcake (personally frosted with Tony's favorite colors of red and gold _after_ Loki shooed the two lovebirds in his kitchen away) once the kids and their parents head off for their dinners at closing time.

"You did good today," he says, handing the water to Pepper and Tony. Pepper grins, rattling off about how well the press has received Tony's brief stint as a children's entertainer, before unsubtly heading off with Natasha and Peggy for her Friday night off.

Tony munches on his cupcake and bats his eyelids at Loki coquettishly as the rest of the staff and customers leave; Loki would say something cutting if not for the fact that Tony is wearing a penguin suit.

"You gotta come home with me tonight," Tony mumbles around his last bite, following Loki around as he double-checks the doors.

Loki freezes in his tracks. "Excuse me?" Tony may have been cute, but still.

"I can't get out of this damned thing by myself," Tony says, flapping his wings. "Pepper had to sew me in after an incident yesterday. I needed to pee really badly and destroyed the zipper," he explains sheepishly.

"Don't you have a chauffeur?"

Tony manages to flip the hood back, exposing a sweaty forehead and damp hair. "Pepper gave him the day off too."

"Huh." Loki sighs at the conspiracy that's clearly going on, and tells Sif that he won't be coming home as he gets into the driver's seat of Tony's car. The cheers and catcalls from the table full of their friends are responsible for his phone's early demise as it's crushed under a passing truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait! Exam revision has been brutal, with much anxiety involved. But my muse refuses to listen to reason, and has been bombarding me with ideas, so let's see how it goes. This one is short, but the next one bears the promise of Real Progress with Tony and Loki. (And possibly a more in-depth look at Phil/Steve. And Bruce. And Rhodey. HA.)


End file.
